


A Little Respect

by TrashCandy



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, Jealousy, Post-Break Up, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25076962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashCandy/pseuds/TrashCandy
Summary: Amara is overtaken with jealousy when she sees Moze with her new girlfriend.
Relationships: Amara/Moze (Borderlands), Ember/Moze (Borderlands)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	A Little Respect

**Author's Note:**

> Quick thing from a writing challenge I did with friends some time ago.

The breeze starts to pick up as the clock passes midnight. Bassy dance music thumps out of the speakers by the bar. Amara leans on the waist-high brick wall, staring down at the glowing neon lights of the skyline of Promethea. She never should have let Ellie talk her into coming here. She was promised a party, and a chance to unwind. Amara spent the last thirty minutes signing autographs and taking pictures with fans. At least now that the novelty's worn off, she's managed to find a quiet corner of the rooftop to think.

She can't blame her. Maybe Ellie thought getting to meet her fans would cheer her up. Maybe any other night, any other time. Not tonight. She has too much on her mind. And there's too much noise to concentrate on it.

But what would she be doing in her cabin on Sanctuary? Going a round with the punching bag? Cleaning her guns? Sleeping? No. She'd probably be doing the same thing she's doing now.

She looks down at her empty glass and makes her way to the bar. Zane tends it, while his digistruct clone DJs. “Ready for another round?”

She nods, offering up her glass. He swaps it out for a clean one and pours her drink: coffee rum, coconut cream liqueur, and milk. She ekes out a thanks as she reaches for it.

Zane pulls the glass back as she reaches out, waiting until she meets his eye. “Try to enjoy yourself, eh, Tiger?”

Amara smiles and shakes her head. “Right. Sorry.” She'd offer an excuse, but she knows he'll see right through it. “I mean, I am still here, aren't I?”

“That you are,” he says, holding her glass out to her. “And we're glad to have you.”

She gives him an appreciative nod and takes a drink. She knows it's a pleasantry, at best, but she lets it slide.

Amara finds her quiet corner at the edge of the lower rooftop and stares down off the ledge. She would've preferred the view from Sanctuary. Here, the busy streets and glowing billboards are too close. She can feel the Vault of the Rampager lurking underneath, screaming out to her from the depths. She shuts her eyes, trying to fight down the painful echoes bubbling to the surface. She can't count how many nights she lay paralyzed by a cold sweat, feeling her skin burn off as she thought of Maya's final moments. But at least in the dark of those nights, she could hold onto Moze.

She clenches her jaw. She promised herself she wouldn't think about her tonight. Maybe she even believed it. But whether she's in her cabin on the ship, or on this rooftop, the single truth remains that she's still confused, and still alone. The only difference is how many people are around her as she works her way to the next round, to the next time she can fall asleep.

Lately, her dreams are so mundane, so frustrating. She could be anyone, but she always ends up herself. Sometimes with Moze, sometimes without. Some days, she's not sure if they are dreams, or just echoes of how things used to be. A formless happiness: familiar, but imprecise. And when she wakes, that undying happiness slips through her fingers, and she is just her, glorious her.

Cheers break out from the rest of the rooftop. Amara looks up from her drink, at the top of the stairs. Moze stands there, her arm around a taller woman with a shaved head and silver eyes. She raises her free arm in a fist, then bows to the crowd. Her quirky grin pierces straight through Amara's chest.

Amara fights back the rising lump in her throat. Moze's eyes land on FL4K. She beams and scurries down the stairs, her girlfriend following slowly behind, her mechanical eyes lingering for a half-second as they land on Amara.

She needs to talk to her. She can't talk to her. What will it accomplish, other than torturing herself? How could she even face her like this? Moze, with her smile outshining the city lights and her new beautiful girlfriend, and Amara, with her hair pulled up in a haphazard bun, dressed in slate gray sweats and battered running shoes. She bows her head and turns back to the streets below, sucking down the rest of her drink in a shameful gulp.

The billboards below do nothing to occupy her thoughts. The city mocks her. An ad for diamond rings flickers on the side of the Tartarus casino.  _ Show her what she's worth _ . Amara scoffs, dimly remembering how Ellie promised she'd have a good time. She chances a quick glance over her shoulder. Moze has her back turned to her, locked in conversation with FL4K. Her girlfriend is crouched by FL4K's companion jabber. Now's her chance. Amara pulls her hood up, stuffs her hands in her sweatshirt pockets, and makes a beeline for the stairs leading to the upper level, leading towards the exit. She reaches the top when a jovial voice calls out her name. She tries pretending she didn't hear, but that just prompts another, louder call of “Amara!”

She grits her teeth and stops in her tracks, turning her head to the side, looking downstairs. Lucky for her, Moze didn't seem to hear. She glances up to see Ellie grinning at her and waving her over.

“Now, did I do somethin' to offend you?” Ellie says, as Amara walks over. “Cause I can't imagine why you're deprivin' me of the beautiful sight of those pythons and those abs in that leather vest.”

Amara affects a smile. “Little breezy out here to be dressing so light.” Her eyes flicker to Moze's girlfriend, in a leather bodice that shows off the seam where her metal shoulder meets her skin. Not too cold for some.

“Well, I'm glad ya made it out here, hun.” Ellie takes a sip from her frosted mug. “World's just easier on the eyes when you're around. And if those sweats ain't enough to keep you warm, don't think twice about askin' for a little cuddle, alright?”

Amara forces out a polite laugh. She's not sure how serious Ellie is, but it doesn't matter. She's not ready. Something about the mismatch between Ellie's eyes and her smile tells her that they both know it. “I'll keep you in my thoughts,” she says, glancing back down towards Moze. She takes a step towards the exit, freezing when Ellie speaks again.

“Leavin' so soon?”

Amara sighs. Did Ellie know Moze was going to show up? Maybe this was the point. She can't let Moze chase her away, can she? She has every right to be here... even if it wasn't her idea to come in the first place. And if she leaves now, she's sure she'll just be fixating on Moze, on how running away from it isn't doing herself any favors. “No, I just...” She looks over at the bar. Zane has disappeared, but his digi-clone is manning the music and the drinks. “Just ran dry.”

She has her next drink in hand. Before she can turn away from the bar, Moze steps up to her left, a soft smile on her face. “Thought that was you. How ya doin'?”

Amara feels her eyes glassing over as she stares at the swell of Moze's bottom lip. Last night she dreamed of kissing those lips. When the sunrise broke the illusion, she buried her face in her pillow and wept. “I'm okay,” she murmurs. How can she make small talk with the woman who's caused her so many sleepless hours since the evening she took away her sunlight? “You look good.”

“Thanks.” Moze takes an icy bottle of Atlas chocolate porter from the digiclone's outstretched hand. He sets a glass of red wine down beside her. Her fingers brush the neck for an idle moment before she takes a sip. Amara blinks, fighting back the intruding memories of those fingers brushing over her own neck. “Been staying busy. As usual. Hard to remember how to relax after so long with Vladof, y'know?”

Amara smiles and nods, watching Moze bring the bottle to her lips, then purse them together. Her overwrought heart thuds in her chest as pale topaz eyes flicker over her sweatshirt. Is that pity they're filled with, or regret? “You always were too high-strung.”

Moze chuckles, a low-pitched burst of happiness that is burned deep in the recesses of Amara's mind. She looms in her memories, she courses through her veins. Her telltale mark on Amara is as plain as the tattoos she's hiding beneath her sweats. “Don't need to tell me, Tiger.”

Amara sips from her glass. Tiger. She wishes she wouldn't tease her like that. She'll never say it the way she used to, the way she wishes she would. She clears her throat. She would walk away, but she doesn't trust the roof to stop spinning. “Has the time away from the Raiders helped, do you think?”

“I think it's less being away from the Raiders, and more not having to worry about a star-swallowing bitch ending existence as we know it.”

Maybe that was it. Her powers will always make her different. If only they could pretend it was a Bloody Harvest party all year long. She could dress as a wounded soldier, and Moze would be the combat medic.

Moze glances back, and Amara follows her eyes. Her girlfriend mouths something at Moze – Amara can't make out what. Moze nods at her, then glances at Amara. “It was good seeing you,” Moze lies, and with that, she grabs her beer bottle and the glass of wine, then heads downstairs to her girlfriend. Amara's throat tightens as Moze leans into her girlfriend and kisses her. She can't fight the rising waves of sorrow coursing through her body. The feeling of Moze's fingers running through her hair, the gentle flutter of her lips on her skin, the soothing cadence of her breath on the back of her neck. The memories crash over her, leaving her breathless, hopeless, directionless.

She tries ignoring her, but she keeps catching the lilt of her laugh over the bass, and her thoughts keep turning to the curious electricity that would flow her through when she saw the glow of the night, cast over her bedspread, over Moze's skin. She looks for a respite at the bottom of her glass. The buzz is short-lived, drowned out by Moze's voice echoing in her mind, how she told her she loved her, how she told her nothing mattered more than seeing her smile. Amara sucks in a tight breath. She would give up her powers just to see Moze glow at her the way she used to.

Moze rises on tiptoe to kiss her girlfriend's smirking lips. Amara's breath tightens in her throat, wondering how she tastes.

The minutes fly past in the form of half-ignored conversations, empty glasses, and choked back tears. The world shifts under Amara's feet as she watches them head to the stairwell, hand in metal hand. She can't hold back the desperation.

“Moserah!”

The grin on Moze's face falters as she and her girlfriend reach the door. She tilts her head as she watches Amara make her way over, brushing the other guests out of her way. She puts a hand to her girlfriend's metal shoulder and murmurs something in her ear. The woman steps back, beside the door leading into the stairwell.

“I know,” Moze says, with a nervous laugh. “Shouldn't have tried to leave without a goodbye.”

Amara lets out a disbelieving chuckle. “You think that's what this is about?”

Moze's lower lip twitches, and she sighs and shakes her head. “Amara... please, don't do this.”

“Don't do what?!” She can feel the eyes of the guests on her. She doesn't care. Nothing could humiliate her more than what she's already been through. “You think you can rip my heart out and then act as if everything's fine?”

Moze's eyes keep flickering to the other guests. “Amara,” she says, reaching for her shoulder, “let's talk about this somewhere more private, alright?”

Amara shoves her hand away. “No, we can talk about it right here!”

Ember steps forward, tensing her metal fingers into a fist. Moze turns and steps in front of her, putting her hand to her chest and telling her not to get involved.

“What changed, Moze? Why won't you tell me what changed?”

Moze turns back to face Amara, her hand on her forehead. “Amara, don't do this here.”

Amara shakes her head. Now that she's started, she can't stop herself. She spits back Moze's parting words to her. “'It's not working out; I'm sorry'? Is that all my love was worth to you?”

“Amara, I am  _ begging _ you not to do this here!”

If not here, then where? If not now, then when? “Is that all  _ I  _ was worth to you?”

Moze blinks, her mouth hanging open. She lets out a disbelieving breath. “That's not fair!”

How can she have the gall to play herself off as the victim? “All I want is a reason! Why won't you be honest with me?”

“I  _ was _ honest with you! I don't love you anymore!”

Amara sways on her feet, struggling for breath. Deep down, she's known it's been true for a while. But hearing the words fall out of Moze's mouth, hearing her erase all the times before when she said those three little magic words to her, strikes her deep inside her soul, and fractures her heart to dust. The air leaves her chest, and she tries to struggle for breath, but her lungs refuse to cooperate.

“I'm sorry, Amara.”

Moze steps closer, raising a consoling hand towards Amara's cheek. She pushes it away. This is all the respect she's worth. A bitter goodbye, and the feigned effort of telling her  _ I don't love you like I used to _ .

“You deserve to be with someone who's committed to you.” Moze's eyes linger on hers for a moment before her gaze drops to the ground. “I hope you find someone who is.”

Her jaw tenses, and her eyes water. She is all too aware that her happiness is looking for the earliest possible chance to walk out of her life. She whispers, in a husky voice, “But I love you.” She leaves it at that, knowing she'll never find the words to express the everlasting mark Moze has left on her, a mark burned not just into her skin, but deeply, indelibly into her soul.

She could have been anyone. She could have been everything, if she had someone who would stay by her side, someone to wake her from her dreams. But she ended up her. Glorious her; uncertain, uncomfortable her.

Moze shuts her eyes and sighs. After a breathless moment, she looks up at Amara and shakes her head. “I'm sorry, Amara.”

With that, she turns and leaves, with her girlfriend following close behind. Amara stares at the door of the stairwell as it clicks shut. Moze's regret is no comfort. If anything, it's left her more devastated. She still has no reason, no explanation. If it was something she said, something she did, at least she could have fixed it. She could have made amends. Instead, she's left with just as many questions, without a single answer to light her way.

The unbearable stare of the guests weighs hot on the nape of her neck, just below her hairline. The shame burns hot in her stomach. She turns around to a few dozen stunned and grimacing faces. “What are you all looking at?!”

They all turn away in unison. Some to their drinks, some to their partners, some at a nondescript slab of concrete on the rooftop.

Amara turns and heads to the exit, trying to work up the courage to face another night alone.


End file.
